'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the port
Not a spodling was talking, not a flame or retort;
The modems connected to servers with care,
In hopes that Spod Nicholas soon would be there;
The techies all wrestled MarsCode in their rooms,
With visions of grandeur. (At least, one assumes.)
And Kleo in her mischief and I, with my baud,
Had just setting down for a long winter's spod.
When out in the port there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my room to see what was the matter.
As fast as a flash all my fingers they flew,
For a list of those logged in giv'n to me by WHO.
The glow of the monitor, pale on my face,
Showed names for the newest spod logged in this place.
Yes, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a Mars-Coded sleigh and eight Puppet reindeer,
With a little old coder, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Spod Nick.
More rapid than broadband his friend tells, they came,
As he greeted his fellows, saluted by name.
"Lo Sidey! Lo Fruvous! Lo David and Gushie!"
"Lo Ghostie and BigG! Lo Kleo and OD!"
"From northpole.org I am giving this call!"
"Now idle on! Idle on! Idle on all!"
As packets that before Cisco routers do fly,
And find destination ports hence by-and-by,
So to each spod's Friends chan the text fairly flew,
From each little reindeer, and Spod Nicholas too.
Within milliseconds he went to each room.
A brief visitation from this you-know-whom.
As I rushed to type 'home' with a grin on my face,
I saw ol' Spod Nicholas @tel to my place.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! His fingers, how fast!
His title, how witty! His prefix, a blast!
His merry description was pleasantly seen,
In colorful bright ANSI red, ANSI green.
He was cheery and quick, a right jolly old spod,
And I laughed when I saw him, even though he is odd.
The Officer channel stayed perfectly clear,
Which gave me to know, I have nothing to fear.
No shouts nor emotes; he went straight to his work,
Putting things in my rooms; then he turned with a jerk,
He emoted a smiley with a dash for his nose,
And prepared himself for his connection to close.
He sprang to the port, to his team gave a whistle.
Disconnected as fast as an angry cruise missile.
But I heard him exclaim, as he finished his laud.
"Merry Christmas to All! And to Mars a good spod!"